No more games, no more fighting the enemy on their terms. The Drasin may be weapons of self-destruction, but they weren’t the only ones kicking around. Not on this planet.

“What’s the status on the evacuation, Swenson?” he asked, pushing the flap of the tent aside as he stepped in.

“Everyone we can find is out of the city,” the ranger grumbled, still far from happy with the current situation.

It wasn’t that Eric blamed him, of course, but there was a time to be pissy about things and a time to just get down and get them done regardless. He just nodded, however, and ignored the other man’s mood.

“Good. How long until the last of them are lifted out then?”

“Last I checked we were almost there. Another couple heavy lifters should take the bulk of them.” Swenson said. “But . . .”

Eric didn’t get a chance to hear what the man was going to say because at that point a young Guardsman stormed into the tent, panting. “Sir! They’re coming!”

It didn’t take a genius to work out who “they” were, and both Eric and Swenson were on the move instantly.

They burst out of the tent, glanced around briefly, and headed for the biggest and loudest grouping along the perimeter on the Dallas side of the camp. Eric paused, grabbing the Guardsman by the shoulder, and twisted him around. “Keep the crowds moving and get everyone in the lifters. Pack them in, if you have to. Just get everyone out of here!”

“Sir! Yes sir!”

He left the young soldier to those duties and rushed through the crowd to catch up with Swenson, who was already well ahead of him. They reached the perimeter about the same time. Eric had the advantage of a much more imposing armored form and was able to travel through the ranger’s wake as Swenson parted the crowd, then climbed up on the embankment the earth movers had put into place.

“Well shit,” Swenson said simply, eyes glued to his binoculars.

Eric didn’t need them. His armor was more than able to enhance the sight before him, but then he almost wished that it hadn’t. The aliens had burst from Dallas in a swarm, like an explosion of army ants now intent on moving onward to their next conquest. He couldn’t count the numbers, not in a roiling, packed grouping like that. Eric knew enough to know that the answer to how many there were was simply “too many.”

He brought up the tactical channel. “This is Weston. Get everyone on the lifters. I want all pilots sitting in their birds now. If it can fly, I want it ready to be airborne in five minutes. If it can’t, leave it. Rifle teams to the northern perimeter. I say again, rifle teams to the northern perimeter.”